Hunter's Woman Page 7

  Chapter Five

  By the time they met Rafe Antonio at his houseboat, it was almost dark. The Brazilian backwoodsman was in his late twenties, tall, intense looking and possessing a calm that Catt did not have at the moment. Despite the tension shimmering in the air while they off-loaded the equipment from the tug, with the tug captain nervously telling them to hurry because he did not want to become infected by the disease ravaging the Juma, Rafe seemed above it all. He behaved as if there was no crisis. Catt wished she possessed such aplomb. Maybe in some other lifetime she had, but not this one.

  Catt saw Rafe go directly to Ty Hunter, saw the two men stand off by themselves, talking in low tones she could not overhear. Determinedly, she focused her attention on orchestrating where the lab tent would be set up and where all the supplies would go near Rafe’s handy houseboat, which he called “home.” The houseboat wasn’t homey looking at all. She saw a lot of holes here and there on the upper decks and wondered if they were created by bullets. Catt knew little of the backwoodsman except that he was a champion of Indian rights in this part of the Amazon, and that he was hated by the rich, who wanted Indian land for mining or other exploitations. He was in the employ of the state, and his bosses were in Manaus. Basically, he was the only “law” that stood between the inhabitants of this part of the Amazon basin and the many who would murder, loot and steal from them. In her eyes, the Amazon was a Dodge City of the Old West, and Rafe Antonio the sheriff trying to keep law and order. Catt understood that Antonio was hated by the timber barons, mine owners and corporate agriculturalists who wanted to exploit the unsophisticated people living in the basin. It was his job to see that didn’t happen.

  The exchange of equipment from water to land went smoothly. Because this was the dry season, bugs weren’t around, and for that Catt was grateful. The tug captain took his money from her and left in a hurry.

  She saw Rafe lift his head, his short black hair gleaming beneath the kerosene lamp that he’d hung on a pole high above the houseboat, a beacon for them to find him. He was dressed in khaki slacks and a white, short-sleeved shirt dampened by sweat, which outlined his powerful chest and broad shoulders. His ebony eyes were fierce, and his gaze reminded Catt of a Texas thunderstorm just about to strike. She decided she liked his presence, his steadiness under these circumstances. Antonio was not someone she’d want to come up against as an adversary. She was glad the Juma had him as a protector.

  Going over to Ty and him, she said, “Is there any way to get into the village tonight?”

  “No, señorita, there is not.” Rafe lifted his square chin and studied the dark tangle of trees, vines and plants along a well-trodden dirt path that led up from the river. “It is a mile away from here. We will trek in at first light tomorrow.”

  His voice was deep and cultured. She was surprised that his English was excellent, although she could detect that it wasn’t his first language. In fact, she learned later he spoke fluent Spanish, as well as Portuguese. “Where can we sit and talk?” Catt demanded. “I need to know the latest details so we can plan what we’ll do at dawn tomorrow.”

  Rafe smiled slightly and bowed deferentially to her. “Of course, señorita. Come, you are my guest in my poor hovel of a home. It is not fancy by your standards, but it is clean and livable. Come.”

  Catt eyed Hunter as he waited for her to follow Rafe. He seemed worried. Or maybe she just sensed something different about him since they’d arrived. Whatever it was, there was a new feeling around Ty now and it caught her off guard. He was looking around, assessing everything in a sharp and alert way. She sensed a fine tension running through him. Maybe it was the narrowing of his intelligent cinnamon eyes as he scanned the area. Or maybe it was her imagination. Catt wasn’t sure anymore. Ordinarily, she could rely on her instincts without fail. Since Hunter had crashed unexpectedly into her life, her emotions were in continuous turmoil, to the point where she didn’t know what the hell was going on inside her.

  Shaking off her thoughts, she followed Rafe and quickly caught up with him. Off to the left, her efficient teammates were already setting up a tent in which the very important lab equipment, table, slides and microscope would be set up so they could take blood, saliva and tissue samples and prepare them for transit back to Georgia, where, hopefully, they would discover what they were fighting down here.

  The houseboat was old, large and in dire need of repairs, starting with a good sanding and several new coats of paint. It was a huge vessel, reminding Catt of a whale floating languidly above the muddy Amazon waters. It was tied to two huge Pau d’Arco trees with thick hemp lines. Ten black rubber tires decorated each side of the houseboat, protecting it as it bobbed slightly against the earthen bank. Rafe was right: it was a homely looking thing. She stepped gingerly on board, but not before she felt Ty cup her elbow from behind with his large, callused hand, helping her up the three feet to the deck.

  Surprised, Catt glanced around once she was onboard. Her elbow tingled hotly where he’d touched her. Pleasure moved down her arm and she flexed her fingers in consternation. Catt didn’t want to feel anything as far as Hunter was concerned. Scowling at him in the dim light, she turned and followed Rafe down a narrow set of wooden stairs. Above her was the deckhouse, enclosed on three sides. She saw the throttles, a wooden wheel, a radio and several maps spread out here and there across the console. As she entered the lower quarters, a somewhat homier area, the air became stuffy and close. The four small windows were closed and the humid air trapped inside had a moldy odor. Even now, Catt wished for the fresher air outside, but said nothing. Because high humidity was ever present in the basin, except during the dry season, when it was a little lower, the houseboat’s wooden hull took a beating from the dampness. Wood rotted quickly in these tropical temperatures.

  On the port side of the houseboat’s interior was a small, square table with a faded yellow oilcloth covering it. Catt smiled a little. Rafe had picked an orchid, placed it in a chipped white coffee mug and set it in the center of the table. Though he was an incredibly masculine figure, the orchid spoke of a more gentle, refined aspect of his character. On the starboard side of the cabin was a threadbare couch in need of reupholstering and a good cleaning. Noting the spots on it here and there, Catt itched to take a sponge to the aging fabric herself. Men were not good housekeepers and Antonio was clearly no exception.

  Rafe gestured to the couch. “Please, senorita, have a seat. May I get you some water to drink? Something to eat? Senor Hunter said you have had a very long and trying day.”

  Catt kept her thoughts about the less-than-homey boat to herself as she sat down. The interior of the houseboat was lit with low-wattage lightbulbs. From somewhere deep in the guts of the houseboat—the engine room, she supposed—came the chattering of a small generator, which was obviously producing electricity for them. Out here in the middle of the Amazon jungle there were no power lines, no gas stations, no nothing. Everything had to be shipped in by canoe or tugboat.

  “Water, yes, please,” she said.

  Catt saw Hunter coming slowly down the rickety stairs, which creaked in protest with each step he took. It was on the tip of her tongue to tell him to leave. However, the dark, shadowed look on his face made her swallow her words.

  Turning around in the small, cramped quarters to the tiny white refrigerator, Rafe brought out three small plastic bottles of effervescent water. “Around here,” he told her congenially, “make sure that if you get bottled water, señorita, it has bubbles in it.” He held up one bottle for her to observe the carbonation in it. Handing it to her, he added in warning, “If it does not, do not drink it. It could be local water filled with parasites, and you will be very sorry.”

  Unscrewing the top, Catt nodded. She was very thirsty. The water was cool and bubbly in her mouth. She saw Ty sit down next to her. He was close. Far too close. Choking down the water, she glared at him and moved over until she was as far away as she could get, but even that left only a foot of space betwe
en them. Rafe and Ty were big men, Catt realized as she capped the bottle of water and set it back on the table. She’d better get used to sharing cramped quarters with them.

  Rafe sat down and handed Ty a bottle, who thanked him in Portuguese and drank deeply from it. Catt waited impatiently. People were dying a mile away. She itched to get into the village to start saving lives. Antibiotics would make the difference. She felt too restless to sit still. Trying to ignore Hunter’s powerful presence was impossible. The air in the cabin was stifling. Catt wanted desperately to run up those stairs and get away. Couldn’t Antonio see how hot it was down here and at least be sensitive enough to open the windows and get some fresh air circulating?

  But Catt couldn’t fool herself. What she really wanted was to run from Ty. He was too close. Her elbow still tingled warmly from the earlier unexpected touch of his fingers, which were roughened from outdoor activity. She recalled all too vividly those fingers moving across her young, untamed body. Well, she was older and wiser now. Despite her silly heart, which was crying out for her to renew contact with him in every way, Catt knew better. If she did, it would be the death of her. She could not stand to be abandoned by Ty Hunter again. Not ever.

  “Can you tell us what is going on inside the village?” Catt asked as Rafe finished drinking his water. She got up and went to each of the windows, jerking them open in turn. A tiny dribble of fresh air began to circulate and she breathed a sigh of relief and sat back down.

  With a nod, Rafe reached over to a small cabinet and opened it. “Yes, here are the stats I knew you would want.” He laid the yellow legal pad in front of her and turned it so she could read it. “I apologize for my bad writing.”

  Catt smiled a little. “Looks like a doctor’s writing. I can read it.” She pulled the sweat-stained, yellow legal pad closer. “Go over each line of this, will you, Señor Antonio?”

  “Call me Rafe,” he said, smiling slightly. Pointing to the first column, he continued. “This was the original count of people in this village—one hundred and six. I’ve noted names, gender and ages, and the dates when each person contracted the sickness. I’ve also noted when they died.” His voice was tinged with sadness. “Doctor, you must understand something about these figures. The Juma used to be one of the largest Indian nations here in the Amazon. Brazilians full of greed have murdered them ceaselessly. As late as the 1960s, they would come down from Manaus by boat and slaughter the Juma.”

  Catt looked up. “Murder them outright?”

  “Sí, señorita.” Rafe’s eyes glittered. “That was, until I was assigned here. Now they no longer try to do it.”

  “Is that why there’re so many bullet holes in your houseboat?” she wondered.

  Rafe glanced at Hunter and then at her. “Sí. I am not popular, as you say. I am hated and feared for good reason. My job is to protect these people from gold miners, from gem marauders and from the rich who want to steal Juma land, to plow it under to create thousands of acres of cashew plantations.” He gave her a grim look, his full mouth becoming a slash of stubbornness. “No, I stand between them and those who would kill them.” He waved his hand toward the notepad. “Now there is another killer here in their village, one I do not understand. I am grateful that you have come. You can see by the stats that nearly fifty percent of my people have died within the last seven days.”

  “Half?” Catt whispered the number, frowned and intently studied the handwritten figures. Rapidly, she leafed through the pages of information.

  “What are their symptoms, Rafe? Do you know? Are you medically qualified?”

  He shrugged. “I am not a médico, señorita. I have some training, but it is in first aid only. I have done what I could to make those who are suffering and dying a little more comfortable, but that is all. Nothing I do saves them.” He closed his eyes, his voice riddled with anguish. “Nothing.”

  “So, there are flulike symptoms?” Catt asked.

  “Sí.”

  “What happens when the fever gets high and their breathing worsens?”

  Sadly he looked at her. “Within hours, usually, they fall asleep, never to awaken again. They die.”

  Ty noted the intensity in Catt’s expression. She was now an epidemic hunter. He was seeing her professional side, and he admired her energy, her focus and the sense of subdued excitement around her. The rapt look on her face was that of a hunter stalking her prey. “Do you have any idea of what it might be, Catt?” he asked her.

  Shrugging, she asked Rafe, “Any bleeding from the nose, mouth, eyes or ears?”

  “No, señorita.”

  “Good,” Catt breathed. She glanced at Ty. “From this preliminary report, we’re probably not dealing with a hemorrhagic virus, which is good. That’s one worry off our plate.”

  “You were thinking of the Saba virus, which was found here in the Amazon a few years ago?” Ty demanded.

  Surprised that he knew that much, Catt nodded. “Exactly. It’s a sister to the Ebola virus. Not quite as lethal, but the problem is we don’t have a drug that can stop it—or Ebola either.” She tapped the notes in front of her. “From all indicators, this sounds like a bacteria of some kind.” She crossed her fingers. “And when I can get a look at those lesions, I can confirm my professional hunch that what we’re dealing with is anthrax. But it has to be confirmed with lab investigations by the OID.”

  Ty tried to hide his surprise. “Anthrax?” It was one of the major bioterrorists’ weapons. Black Dawn could have sprayed anthrax spores over this village a week ago. His skin crawled at the thought.

  Catt saw the glint in Hunter’s eyes. “Yes, anthrax. Why?” She saw Rafe’s mouth thin and a dark look she couldn’t decipher pass between the two men. Both were on guard. It was nothing obvious, just a subtle electric tension that sizzled through the small, cramped space of the houseboat.

  “Anthrax, señorita? Could you be wrong about this?”

  “Sure I could, Rafe.”

  “If it is anthrax,” Ty muttered, “then we need to take special precautions ourselves.”

  Catt nodded. “Universal protection for all of us.”

  Hunter knew that meant wearing protective gloves and a mask that was specially designed to stop larger viruses and bacteria from being inhaled. “How are the villagers going to take to us coming in with gloves and masks, Rafe?”

  The backwoodsman smiled a little. “I’ve been touching them, bathing them with cooling water, holding them, cleaning up their vomit, and have not been affected by it.” He held up his long, expressive fingers. “If this bug is infectious, then I have remained immune to it. I told the chief of the Juma that people would be coming to save their lives and they would wear funny-looking gear. They are prepared for you, I think.”

  Catt studied Rafe. “You’ve had no protection since the outbreak and you’re still free of it?”

  “Sí, señorita.” Rafe’s full mouth thinned. “Maybe I am lucky?”

  “Maybe you are,” she murmured.

  “If it was anthrax, though,” Ty said, “it’s highly contagious and easily picked up from soil, plants or from touching an infected patient.”

  Catt studied him. He was surprising her again with his extensive knowledge. When he glanced back at her, she felt warmth and worry radiating from him. “That’s true,” she agreed in a low tone. “Anthrax, once it gets going, is highly contagious. If you’ve been dealing with a lot of sick Indians and you’re free and clear of it, then it’s probably not anthrax.”

  Ty shifted uncomfortably. He knew that the bioterrorists had cloned a new and different version of anthrax. It was a gene-spliced variety, and there was no antibiotic to stop it. Once a person got it, he or she died.

  “How soon can we know if it is anthrax or not?” he asked Catt.

  Instead of answering him directly, she turned to Rafe. “Get me into the village at first light, and I’ll be able to give you a preliminary answer. Then we’ll have to take samples, bring them back to the lab tent we just set up
on the bank, package them up, and you’ll have to run them into Manaus.”

  “We have a jet standing by to take the lab specimens back,” Ty told Rafe.

  Surprised, Catt looked at him. “We do?”

  “Well…because I work for the federal government, I asked that they send a jet down here to help us out instead of relying on commercial flights back to the States.”

  Giving him a measuring look, Catt murmured, “I see….”

  Rafe slowly unwound and stood up. “You two need your sleep. It is going to be a long, endless day tomorrow for everyone.” He turned and gestured to a narrow bed behind him. “Señorita, you will sleep here.”

  “Thank you, Rafe. I hope I’m not pushing you out of your bunk?”

  Chuckling, Rafe said, “No, señorita. I have a hammock that hangs between two trees. I will be fine there. The rest of the team has already set up tents on the riverbank to sleep in. Señor Hunter, you can turn this table into a bed for yourself using the cushions stored beneath. I know it is cramped down here, but at least you will have a small shower, a toilet and a kitchen. You two will sleep here for the duration of this outbreak.”

  Alarmed, Catt’s mouth dropped open. “Well…wait…I don’t—”

  Ty stood up. “Thanks, Rafe. You’re a very good host and we appreciate your putting yourself out for us.” He gave Catt a look that told her not to burden the backwoodsman with their personal problems.

  Choking back her protest, Catt realized that their host was putting himself out for them. Rafe had no idea of the problems between her and Ty. Nor would he. She forced a cardboard smile. “Thanks, Rafe. You’ve more than gone out of your way to help us. We’re deeply appreciative.”